In which there is coffee….

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For the longest time I refused to drink coffee. Even the smell of it made my skin (figuratively) crawl. Like many things in our lives I can blame this on my mother. You see, she loves coffee (as in OTP) and one of my earliest memories involves scarfing down my breakfast in order to catch the school bus while the entire kitchen smelled like Starbucks during rush hour. Pleasant smell yes; but really bad associations. Earlier this year I caved to my inner masochist and bought a mocha in an effort to stay awake during my (boring-to-tears) Journalism seminar. I can’t say it was love at first sip but it did the job. Mocha became my substitute when I didn’t feel like hot chocolate. -Ironically I managed some really nasty burns with how chocolate, which has always been my favourite, but never with anything remotely coffee related-

And then summer came, and I came back to Greece and eventually in the small island of Paros which I love to bits but which does not serve mocha. Anywhere. And believe me, I’ve checked. But a girl needs to force herself awake somehow, especially when there are day-trips involved, and in a second masochistic impulse I tried a… freddo cappuccino. Now, I’m sure most of you have watched Looney Tunes at some point. You how Speedy Gonzales speaks when he’s on his rapid-fire mode? Well, I was like that. Gods know what I was babbling about, I can’t remember. I do remember that at some point there was a sing-along involved (one that lasted at least 30 minutes…). Point being: my father’s reaction when I made it home giggling like a madwoman: “Are you drunk?” No, daddy dearest, I’m not…

Am I going to drink coffee again? Should I? I think the answers are occasionally and no. I must admit it was funny having the world about me look like an episode of Looney Tunes (even if Taz didn’t feature, pity!) but I can achieve the same results with two strawberry daiquiris and frankly the context in which I end up with a coctail on each hand sounds more promising in terms of F.U.N.

One response »

  1. Pingback: In which I contemplate year three | Meanwhile, thousands of miles away…

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